


Equal and Opposite Reactions

by irisbleufic



Category: Toy Soldiers (1991)
Genre: Boarding School, Canon Character of Color, M/M, Power Outage, Teenagers, Weekend Off-Campus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-01
Updated: 2005-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Columbus Day is dissed, Brown's music department is infiltrated, and four unlikely high-school friends fend for themselves when the frat house heating goes down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equal and Opposite Reactions

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LJ in January 2005.

"So, are you in?" Phil asked. "Limited time offer. My cousin's gotta know by tonight so he can make plans to get us tomorrow."

Billy closed his chemistry book and set it aside; he hadn't been reading anyway.

"Sure, why not," he said, glancing up at Phil. "Joey?"

"I refuse to celebrate fucking Columbus Day," Joey said, not even looking away from his novel. _The Name of the Rose_. Billy had seen the movie, which Joey said sucked, never mind that it had Sean Connery. "Keeping that in mind, you can go be _real_ heathens without me."

"Oh, come _on_ ," Phil protested loudly. "Ric's a great guy and all, but do you seriously think I want to spend an entire weekend alone with him?"

Joey looked up, eyes focusing first on Billy, then darting across the room to Phil.

"What," he said, dripping sarcasm. "You afraid people will talk?"

"No, asshole," Phil replied, kicking a pile of books off his bed. "It's just that...look, Ric is fucking _boring_ sometimes, okay? You didn't hear that from me. I'm counting on you guys to lighten shit up."

"We could booby-trap your cousin's house," Billy suggested. "Where's he going again?"

"Atlantic City, with the frat," Phil said, "but he said that the house had better be in the same shape they left it."

"Exactly how did your cousin get his hands on a house in the first place?" Joey asked dubiously. He closed the book and set it down on his desk. "You talk like he owns the joint."

"He does," Phil said. "My uncle died and left it to him."

"Oh."

"Are we gonna have to put up with him for long?" Billy asked, watching Joey's eyes. _C'mon – we need to get off this fucking campus for a while!_

"Only a few hours," Phil said, grinning. "He's dropping us off, picking up the brothers, and hitting the road."

Joey chewed his lip, contemplating something. "The place is near Brown, right?"

"Yeah," Phil reassured him. "Providence isn't too shabby. Lots of live music on weekends."

Joey bit his lip even harder.

"Besides, it's not Columbus Day that we're celebrating," Billy said, nudging him. "It's Fall Break."

"Thank you, bureaucracy, for making my guilt easier to bear," Joey said drily, and let his head fall onto the desk.

Billy rose from the bed and roughed up his hair. It was too goddamned perfect.

"Hey, _hey_ – "

"You guys better be packed by five tomorrow," Phil warned. "Leo's so punctual he's almost a chick."

"Ric oughta love that," Joey said, voice muffled by a mess of papers.

Billy suppressed a snort of laughter and gave the back of Joey's head a light shove.

"I'll be sure to tell him," Phil said, and left the room.

Billy gave Joey's shoulder a squeeze – because it was there – and went back to the bed. He retrieved his book and smoothed the pages. Two chapters for Tuesday, like Miller actually expected they'd _read_ them? Billy didn't think so. He watched Joey slumped at the desk for a while, wondering if he'd fallen asleep.

"You're thinking so loud I can hear it," Joey said, turning his head. One side of his face was red and splotchy where it had been smashed against his wrist.

Billy shrugged and sprawled out on the mattress, arms behind his head. "We're getting the fuck out of here, what more could you want?"

"Less narrow topic for the history essay, but I'd be wasting my breath," Joey said, maybe smiling. It was hard to tell.

"C'mon," Billy said, rolling off the opposite side of the bed and onto the floor, where a lot of his clothes were. "We've gotta pack."

"No way, man," Joey said, and there was the sound of rustling pages. "This is getting good."

"I'm not gonna read it." Billy pulled a pair of jeans out from under the bed, determined to ignore the next thing Joey said.

"That's what you said last time."

* * *

"What the hell's _in_ there?" Ric asked, blinking at Joey's backpack. It was stuffed.

Joey dropped it on the pavement with a shrug. "Enough for a weekend. Why the fuck do you care?

Ric raised both hands in the air, letting the matter drop.

Billy stared at the ground, watching ants crawl in and out of a dirt-filled crack. His own backpack didn't make a very good seat; it kept wobbling under him and trying to land him flat on his back. Joey stopped his pacing every once in a while to glance over, only to give him an amused look and shake his head once as if to say, "You're so fucking weird." Billy shrugged and tried his best "So what?" look, but Joey just smirked and kept pacing. So fucking high-strung. Billy couldn't wait to see him loosen up a bit, assuming alcohol or weed or whatever they had in that house would even do the trick.

"Hey, Phil," Ric said, tapping his watch. "It's five."

"I bet he got lost," Phil muttered, scuffing some dust in the direction of his duffel bag.

"Chicks aren't afraid to ask for directions," Joey said helpfully, pausing to shade his eyes. There was a car coming.

"That him?" Billy asked, standing up and brushing his hands off on his shorts. Might as well wear them while he still could. Up here, nature still thought it was August. Of course, it was only October fifth. New England could do some strange-ass shit in less than a month.

Phil shaded his eyes, too. "I think so. Told ya."

"Nice Jeep," Ric said.

Billy nodded, watching it pull up. It _was_ a nice car, but they'd be kind of cramped in there. That wasn't even counting the luggage, and three of them had packed lighter than Phil. Leo handled his wheels like a hot-shot, but Billy wouldn't hold that against him. He was in college; he'd earned it. Or gotten it from his inheritance, either way. The driver's side window slid down, and Leo peered out at them, wrinkling his freckled forehead.

"You guys got a lot of stuff," he said intelligently.

"Sorry," Phil said.

"Better load up quick," Leo said, indifferently turning up the radio. The back of the Jeep popped open.

Joey walked over to Billy and gave his shin a light kick. "You heard him. Get up."

"Yeah, over my dead body," Billy said, grabbing hold of Joey's hand and using Joey for leverage before he could protest.

Joey snatched his hand back, rubbing it irritably. "I get a handicap in the Nintendo tournament."

"Somebody's been sales-pitching, I see," Leo said, giving Phil a cool look.

Phil's grip on his duffel bag tightened, and he shuffled quickly to the back of the car.

"S'cool of you," Ric said, already opening the passenger door. He slid into the seat smoothly, which seemed to get Leo's attention. "Real cool."

"I try," Leo said, and Billy saw him tip his sunglasses before he followed Joey with his bag. What a poser.

"Loser," Joey coughed as he helped Billy slam the back shut.

"I was thinking the same thing," Billy said, and shoved Ric's seat forward for both of them.

"Where the hell am I supposed to sit?" Phil asked, trying to open Leo's door, which Leo was rapidly locking and unlocking.

"The roof," Ric suggested.

"There's no fucking roof," Joey pointed out, which earned him a snigger from Leo.

"My point exactly," Ric said, pretending he'd actually been thinking about that. He could be a real ditz sometimes.

Leo didn't seem to notice. "Just get in already. We're running late."

Phil managed to yank the door open and crawl in without even making Leo collapse his seat.

"Get out of the way," he snarled, and wedged himself between Joey and the would-be window.

Joey rolled his eyes, then gave Billy a sheepish look as he squirmed, trying to make more room. "Sorry."

Billy lifted his arm and set it across the back of the seat. "No problem," he said, trying to huddle up closer to his own side. No matter what he did, Joey's thigh was going to be pressed up against his own, and he suspected it went the same for Joey and Phil. He was glad he'd gotten Joey, in any case. Not much worse than sharing a bunk. Maybe even better, if he thought about it – and abruptly stopped thinking, because he was sure he wasn't supposed to think that.

"Buckle up, kiddies," Leo said, and screeched away from the gate.

Billy felt the hem of his shorts caught in a familiar vise-grip.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Joey breathed, fingers beginning to relax. "Just great."

Billy touched the back of his hand, still not thinking.

"Good. Long ride."

Joey was looking straight ahead, anxiously watching the stop-light.

"Yeah."

Billy let his fingers brush Joey's wrist before he let go, and said nothing.

* * *

"Dude, what did you _give_ him?" Ric asked, reaching back to poke Joey's arm.

Billy glanced over at Phil, who was watching the glow of the gas station through the dusk, dreading Leo's return. "Dramamine, what did you think?"

"You carry fucking _Dramamine_?" Ric asked.

"Yeah," Phil said, mildly defensive. "What's wrong with that?"

"You'd expect it of Snuffy, that's all," Billy said. Joey's head was heavy on his shoulder, and his hand dangling down from the back of the seat practically touched Joey's.

"It got him to stop grabbing shit every time we took a corner, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Ric said, worried, "but it also knocked him out cold."

"So," Phil said, "we know better than to give him a whole one next time."

"You fuckers." Joey's voice was slurred and vague.

"Shhh," Billy said, tapping his shoulder. "Go back to sleep."

"You'd make a good mother," Ric said, which was funnier than it should have been, because he sounded sincere.

"Bite me," Joey murmured, but he seemed to be following Billy's suggestion.

 

Leo came back a few minutes later and tossed a crinkly plastic bag over his shoulder. It landed perfectly in Phil's lap.

"Half an hour," he said. "Stuff your face and shut up about the dumb car games, will you?"

Billy considered at the bag, then looked at Phil. "Well?"

"Swedish Fish, M&M's, Twizzlers, Nerds."

"Dibs on the Nerds!" Ric shouted.

Billy had the feeling it would be the longest thirty minutes of his life. He wasn't really hungry. Leo's sense of humor was non-existent, it was starting to get chilly out, and he doubted that anybody had the nerve to ask Leo to put up the hood. At least Joey was warm and calm, or at least too groggy to complain. 

"Hey, Phil, have any more Dramamine?"

* * *

The house was on a quiet street in a quiet suburb, which Billy hadn't expected. The house was also quiet, which Billy _definitely_ hadn't expected. Leo pulled neatly into the driveway and turned off the ignition, stretching with deliberate, bone-cracking satisfaction. Joey sat up, suddenly awake.

"There?" he asked no one in particular, yawning.

"Where else?" Phil asked, shoving the back of Leo's seat. "The door, buttmunch."

"How second grade," Leo said, but the door swung open.

"Hallelujah," Phil muttered, shoving the driver's seat forward as soon as Leo was out. He hopped onto the sidewalk and stretched as colorfully as his cousin.

"Family resemblance," Joey said, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes," Billy said, wanting to laugh and add something like "dear" all at the same time. The situation was disturbing, so he shoved Ric's seat and demanded the same thing that Phil had, only minus the "buttmunch."

"Hey, watch it," Ric said testily, but he seemed all too glad to get out of the Jeep.

Billy held the seat for Joey, who was still too fuzzy to protest. He wondered if Phil hadn't made some mistake and given him something stronger that he found tucked into the pocket on the back of Leo's seat. By the way the house glowered, though – two stories of boring white siding – this was probably not your average frat.

Leo was having a soft, polite conversation with somebody on the other side of the front door.

"We're in trouble," Billy said to no one in particular, handing Joey his backpack before they shut the Jeep up again.

"Why?" Joey asked, studying the place with eyes clearer than a moment ago. "Doesn't look like a dump or anything."

"My point exactly," Billy said, and followed Phil and Ric up the sidewalk.

Will, Andrew, Brett, J.B., and Sherlock were way too fucking nice. No problem, they said, help yourself to whatever. Leo's got a stick up his ass. No shit, Billy wanted to say, but he kept that to himself and nodded gratefully instead. There were actually full, orderly bookshelves in the living room. It was _all_ disturbing.

"I hope you guys aren't taking the Jeep," Phil said, setting his duffel bag on one of the couches. He gave Leo a challenging look.

In the lamplight, Leo didn't look like such a jerk. He just looked tired.

"No, genius. We're taking the van."

"Don't worry," Ric said, collapsing in the armchair, bouncing briefly. "The house is in good hands."

"Yeah, if you can let go of it long enough," Joey said absently, squinting at the bottom shelf of the bookcase.

The room erupted in laughter, and Billy had never seen Ric blush so deeply in all his short time at Regis.

"Be _good_ ," Leo said, mussing Phil's hair. "Okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Phil said, shoving him off. "Whatever. Hit the road. Aren't you going to be late or something?"

"Are you kidding?" said the guy they called Sherlock. "Heists of this nature shouldn't be rushed."

Ric's brow furrowed. "Heists?"

"You think MIT students are the only schmucks who can win big?" Andrew asked.

"No, not really," Ric said, then gave him a blank look. "Um – "

On his way out the door, Leo gave him a pat on the head. "You've gotta work on educating this one. I recommend lots of poker."

"Cards in the kitchen?" Phil asked.

"You bet," Leo shouted, already on the porch. "You guys ready or what?" he called over his shoulder.

There was a chorus of mutters from "Yeah" to "Nice to meet you," and in about three minutes flat, Billy found himself standing alone in the middle of the living room, surrounded by nothing except his three friends and a vast, awkward silence. Lacking something better to do, he shrugged off his backpack and let it drop on the pale blue carpet. The place needed to be vacuumed, and somehow, that was a big relief.

"Somebody's got Garfield comics," Joey said, pleased.

"Somebody had _better_ have booze," Phil said, starting for the kitchen.

"We just got here," Ric said, sounding uneasy. "Maybe we shouldn't drink yet."

Joey turned around, surveying the rest of the room as if he was finally waking up.

"Did anybody say anything about rooming arrangements?"

"There's five fucking bedrooms," Phil shouted from the kitchen, apparently rummaging in cupboards. "Take your pick!"

Billy thought about that for a second. "I thought six lived here."

"They do," Phil called back. "Two of 'em share. You and Joey ought to take that one."

Billy glanced at Joey, uncertain. What if the ride had weirded him out? He could never quite tell what his roommate was thinking, except when he could tell all too well.

Joey shrugged. "Sure."

 _I give up_. Billy gave him a brief nod, then headed for the kitchen.

As it turned out, there was a cupboard full of this, that, and the other thing – six packs, the makings for mixers, even a few bottles of half decent wine. Joey set one of the reds out on the counter, and Phil seemed to approve of his decisiveness. Ric said that he'd sooner have something to eat than something to drink, he was _starved_.

"Don't look at me," Phil said. "I'm a horrible cook."

After a quick look through the fridge, Billy told everybody to chill out and let him find shit for sandwiches. It was all there, sure enough, as if somebody had anticipated that they wouldn't be in the mood for screwing around. There were even a few bottles of soda in there, and a pitcher of something that might be iced tea or Kool-Aid. Joey was disappointed when it turned out to be grape-flavored.

"I saw tea in one of the cupboards," Phil said. "You could make some."

"T'morrow," Joey said around a mouthful of sandwich. "Gotta teach somebody poker."

"Hey, I'll help," Billy said, faking the hurt in his tone. "Are you forgetting who took the pot three weeks ago?"

"Four," Joey corrected. "And you cheated."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Can't a guy just eat in peace?" Ric asked miserably.

"No," said the rest of them, because that was an unspoken rule.

Ric turned out to be a horrible card player. He couldn't lie to save his hand, let alone his life, and he kept forgetting what beat what. Fortunately, the stakes were no higher than their accumulated pocket change, and Phil was playing well enough that Billy didn't have to feel sorry for the fact that, otherwise, he would've been solely responsible for kicking Joey's ass. Joey was the first to throw down his cards, saying that this was a lost cause and he had a fucking book to read and a whole upstairs to explore.

Billy agreed, but only to the exploring.

The upstairs wasn't anything out of the ordinary, except that it made Billy nervous about nosing around. These guys really kept their shit in order; only two of the rooms were something that an adult could reasonably consider a mess. The thought struck him that Leo and his friends practically _were_ adults, seeing as they were sophomores and juniors in college, and he wondered suddenly if they were in their right minds, letting a bunch of high-schoolers crash their space.

"Leo must've bribed them," Joey said, studying the nearest poster. "I can't think of any other explanation."

"Actually, I think they're just crazy," Billy said, wishing the computer was turned on. He gave the mouse a pat and left the room.

The double was closest to the staircase, right across from the bathroom. Wooden floor, scattered rugs that gave the place a distinctly patchwork appearance. Two desks, one perpendicular to each bed – a Packard-Bell next to the twin-size and an Apple next to the queen-size. Joey walked over to the bigger bed, which was neatly made, and flopped onto it backwards. It rippled underneath him with a muffled splash.

"Dibs," he said, sitting up. "You hate Macs."

"Yeah, whatever," Billy said, glancing back and forth between the computers. Both were turned on, so both were fair game.

"I'll get the stuff," Joey said, and got up again.

Billy could hear him halfway down the stairs before he could respond, so he sat down on the twin bed and smoothed a patch of the worn comforter. Cream color with flying ducks on it. Who covered a bed in ducks? Probably some hunter's wife. It was old enough to be a cast-off, but it looked clean and felt soft. The queen-size had fared a bit better, covered in a lightweight navy blue down comforter. Joey was more likely to get cold, anyway.

Something must have sidetracked Joey, because several minutes passed and Billy found himself still sitting alone in the darkened room. The sun had all but set, and the only light filtered pathetically through the half closed blinds and skittered and blinked across the surface of two glassy screens. The room smelled faintly of dust and aftershave, and there were far worse things than that. Billy lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling slanting above his head.

He wasn't exactly sure why this felt so awkward. He'd been dying to get off campus ever since classes started, what with having been stuck there almost all summer. Joey had made things bearable, of course, but if he hadn't met Joey, where would he have been for his first few months at a brand new school? Probably out the door and on his ass already. Joey hadn't been there for summer term because he'd flunked something and needed to catch up; he'd been there because anywhere was better than home, he claimed. Two weeks into summer term, Billy had discovered _why_ , and he swore he'd never call Joey on anything if he could help it. Billy had always thought _his_ family had problems, but the concept rapidly expanded to include situations that were potentially life-threatening, and his family had never had any of those, at least not to his knowledge. He didn't envy Joey existing constantly under threat, no matter how great Joey's life seemed otherwise.

Billy rubbed his temples. Well, that was it right there.

He _worried_ about Joey. Almost constantly, in fact. You couldn't get to be friends with somebody that bright and devoted and ready to try anything, and then find out his dad is a fucking mafia don and not have your stomach tied in knots, especially not when you realize you _care_ about the guy. It wasn't just Joey's father, either. It was a hundred little things that revealed themselves as the summer progressed, from Joey's vicious, irrational temper to the fact that he slept lightly, or that he tended to get sick when he was stressed. If it wasn't one thing, it was another, and as long as it was _something_ , Joey refused to smile.

Sometimes, Billy thought he'd give anything to see it.

At first, he made a game of making Joey happy. A new prank, a new book, a new place he'd discovered on the grounds. He took a sort of secret pride in noticing that Joey smiled for very few people, and since his arrival at Regis, he'd seen Joey smile more than Joey's long-standing friends ever had. Maybe it was why they decided to let him into the crew so fast: he could make Joey happy, and when Joey was happy, things were a lot easier on everybody.

Billy thought that things had been going very well until two weeks after fall term started.

They had all taken the bus into Cambridge that Saturday. Snuffy wanted to see some movie, and he'd managed to bully Hank into seeing it with him. Ric said he wasn't so sure, so he'd just hang around with Phil and Billy and Joey. Whatever they were doing. They hadn't made any plans, of course, so they just ended up wandering around Harvard Square and generally making asses of themselves. It seemed like a cool idea at the time, and the street performers were great that night.

After a while, Joey had gotten bored and insisted on looking in some stores before they closed. Ric thought that was lame, he wanted to keep watching the magician, and Phil agreed with him, so Billy and Joey left them standing there behind Out of Town News and crossed the street.

"Heart of the Universe," Joey said. He picked up a flattened silver spoon from the curb, probably from one of Harvard's dining halls, and wandered around looking confused for a few seconds before jogging under the Coop awning and setting it up against the display window. It was the strangest thing, but he was smiling.

Billy had picked up _Le Monde_ for the hell of it, thinking maybe it would get him extra credit in French. Joey tugged him away from there, saying they didn't have much time, which was ridiculous, because the place he was going was right next door. It was warm inside and smelled like expensive food.

Billy opened his eyes, blinking at the ceiling. He'd never thought shopping could be _fun_.

In the end, they hadn't bought much, but what they _had_ bought would cause a world of trouble if somebody caught them sneaking it into Regis. Joey had it in his backpack, and he boarded the bus as coolly as if he wasn't carrying six bottles of expensive foreign beer. Billy spent most of the ride back to Regis wondering where his parents would send him next if they got caught with this shit. Joey just slept, forehead against the window, completely unconcerned.

What had happened after was somewhat hazy, as it had been the result of consuming three beers apiece in order to eliminate the evidence, but Billy remembered a lot of talking and laughing and Phil saying he was out off to Ric's because he didn't want to get busted. At some point, they struggled up from the floor and onto the bottom bunk, where they parked, heads spinning, and talked some more. Billy wished he could remember what they talked _about_ – it must have gotten serious, because his last impressions were of Joey's soft voice and wide, unfocused dark eyes, and then dizziness, and then nothing.

Billy had awakened early the next morning to find Joey curled up in the crook of his arm, Joey's head against his chest. Sure, they had their clothes on and everything, but it was awkward as hell, and Joey was still out like a light. Billy had carefully disentangled himself and retreated to the top bunk, where he found it difficult to get back to sleep. The pillow smelled like Joey's hair, and Phil's continued absence troubled him. Had he come back and seen them, and left again?

If Joey remembered what had happened, he hadn't said a word about it later that day, or at any time since. Except he hadn't hesitated to fall asleep on Billy's shoulder in the car, and he hadn't hesitated to act as if there wasn't anything out of the ordinary about it, and in front of a complete stranger, no less.

"What the hell's in here?" Joey asked, bursting into the room with one backpack over each shoulder.

"Um," Billy said, sitting bolt upright. "Clothes."

Joey raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have guessed you're the indecisive type."

"It's, you know," Billy said, rubbing his forehead, "good to keep your options open."

Joey shook his head, almost laughing, and set the backpacks down. 

"C'mon. They're up for more poker."

"Are you?" Billy wasn't sure he wanted to play again. Ric tried his patience.

"Not really, but could it hurt?"

"No," Billy said. "Guess not." He stood up, stretching.

Joey hesitated, like he meant to move toward Billy, then reached for the doorknob.

"I'll make iced tea if you play."

"Ouch, Joey. That's a hard bargain."

Joey grinned almost shyly. 

"But you'll take it."

* * *

"I don't think this is how you make it, Joey," Phil said doubtfully, watching Joey carefully add small amounts of different liquors to the pitcher.

"No shit," Joey said, "but there's no Coke, and I've always wanted to try this."

"Gin," Billy said, handing him the next bottle. "Besides, gentlemen, this isn't Long Island iced tea," he added. "This is New Jersey iced tea."

"You are so dead," Joey muttered, twisting the cap off the gin.

"Do we even _have_ triple sec?" Phil wondered aloud, stooping down to inspect the cupboard.

"No," Joey said, reaching for the rum. "And there's no sweet and sour mix, either."

Ric peered over Joey's shoulder into the pitcher and said, "That's really gross."

"How do you know?" Billy asked, then handed Joey a wooden stirring spoon.

The pitcher was just enough for four large glasses, and after the obligatory toast, everyone but Joey spit the first mouthful back.

"Needs more sugar," he said, and went across the kitchen to fetch it.

Billy swilled his drink around, but didn't say anything. It _really_ needed some Coke.

* * *

"Who finished the ginger ale?" Ric asked, frowning into his glass. "Need s'more."

"No way," Joey said, taking his glass away. He grabbed Phil's next, stacking them neatly.

"How come you're sober?" Phil asked, vaguely gesturing at Joey.

"I stopped after the iced tea. Anything else and I would've been sick all over your cousin's table, how's that?"

"Oog," said Ric. He'd figured out that rum and ginger ale wasn't a bad substitute for rum and coke, at least not until you had too much.

"Cards and booze," Billy said, shaking his head. He let Joey take his glass. "You're ruined, Ric. Ruined."

"Shut up," Ric said, and put his head down on the table.

Phil sat back, not quite as drunk as Ric, but drunk enough to look confused and worried all at once.

"He'll be fine," Joey said from the sink. There was the brief sound of running water, then Joey came back with a towel. He dropped it on Ric's head.

Phil yawned. "I'm going to bed, if I can find it."

"Don't break your neck," Billy said, feeling pleasantly buzzed, but nothing worse. "Those stairs are wicked."

"Shut up," Phil echoed. He got up and wove his way out of the kitchen.

"Hey, Ric," Joey said, gently shaking Ric's shoulder. "You need help?"

"Yesh," Ric said clearly.

Joey glanced at Billy and sighed, "Some help here?"

"Yeah, sure."

Ric was heavier than he looked, and about as easy to maneuver up a narrow staircase as a Greyhound bus. They had to switch over from one of them on each side of him to one behind and one in front, and hoping Ric wouldn't fall on the way. He stumbled twice, almost knocking Joey face-first into the top step.

"Next time, we're putting him on the couch," Joey muttered.

"Hear, hear," said Billy, and got one of the bedroom doors, praying Phil hadn't already taken it.

Once they'd gotten Ric settled and determined where Phil had crashed, there was a shared moment of hysterical laughter.

"You...um, you tired?" Billy managed, wiping his eyes.

"Yep," Joey said, shaking his head into his hands. "Yep. I'm good."

Billy got the door to their room, which felt warmer than they had left it earlier. Maybe Phil had turned up the heat. He flopped down on the twin bed and kicked out of his shoes, watching Joey rummage in his backpack. He'd brought pajamas, too, but he was too lazy to bother, so he found himself watching Joey instead.

Joey peeled out of his shirt, letting it slide down his arms until it caught on the bracelets at his wrists. "You going to sleep?" he asked, carefully untangling the shirt and folding it. "Or did you bring homework?"

"Are you kidding?" Billy asked, lingering over the sight of Joey’s bare arms. "I’m on vacation."

Joey fished a t-shirt out of his backpack, giving Billy a reproachful look. "Man, your bag’s too heavy not to have at least one book in it."

"Okay, okay," Billy said. "I brought chemistry. I knew you’d yell at me if I didn’t."

Joey didn’t say anything – just gave him a sort of tired smile, then tugged the shirt down over his head. He undid his jeans before sitting down on the edge of the bed, then kicked out of them, seemingly unaware that Billy’s eyes hadn’t left him.

"When did you start writing all that?" Billy cleared his throat. Joey’s boxers were silly at best and confusing at worst, and he’d learned to let the frogs slide.

"Writing what?" Joey asked, tossing his jeans over the chair at the desk.

"The stuff all over your jeans," Billy said, wondering how warm Joey's skin would feel under his hands. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He wasn't getting anywhere with this.

"About a year ago," Joey said, stretching out on the bed, deliberately making it wobble under him. "Headache?"

"What? No," Billy said quickly, opening his eyes again. "Shouldn't have had that whisky shot, I guess."

"I'll get Ric to help me throw your ass in the bathtub tomorrow morning, how's that?"

"I don't get hangovers," Billy insisted. "I didn't have enough."

Joey was on the way to sleep, he realized, with his eyes half closed and that sleepy grin. He wanted the water bed. He wanted to stretch out beside Joey, to reach over and –

"'Night, loser," Joey said, and rolled over on his side.

Billy realized that the lights were still on. He got up with a sigh.

"'Night."

* * *

Billy woke to find the room full of thin, scattered sunlight, and the water bed empty. Joey hadn't bothered to make it, but the covers were pulled into some semblance of casually-used order.

Downstairs, he found Ric sitting on the couch and looking kind of bleary as he watched an episode of _Beetlejuice_ that Billy had seen before. He wondered where everybody was.

"Phil up?" he asked, crossing in front of the television.

"Out of the way, man," Ric said. "I don't know."

Joey was curled up with a mug in one of the kitchen chairs, knees drawn to his chest, staring out the window. There was an abandoned newspaper on the table, and a half eaten bowl of Lucky Charms.

"Hey," Billy said, scratching his elbow. "You're up early."

"Yeah," Joey said. "That thing's hard to sleep on."

"We can trade off, if you want," Billy said, but hearing that the water bed was a tough night's sleep didn't help much, especially since Joey wouldn't be in it.

"Thanks. Maybe."

Billy found the box of Lucky Charms and brought it over to the table, then reached for Joey's bowl. "Finished?" he asked.

"Why?" Joey took a noisy sip of his tea.

Billy shook some more cereal into the bowl and said, "No use wasting it."

Joey made a face, then shrugged at him.

After a few long moments of silence, Phil wandered in rubbing his eyes and demanding to know if anybody had made anything decent. He glanced at Joey, then at the Lucky Charms.

"Guess not," he muttered, and went to the cupboard.

At Billy's suggestion, they adjourned to the living room and joined Ric in front of the television. Joey was happy with what was on, and started to explain why the cartoon was way smarter than the film. Phil groaned and said, God, that's so lame, he was going back to the kitchen, but ended up staying exactly where he was.

"Well," Ric said when the credits and theme music started to roll, "I think I missed last quarter of the plot thanks to you guys."

"There's another episode next," Billy said.

"Are we just gonna sit around here all day?" Phil asked, setting his cereal down on the carpet. "Because I hadn't planned on this being a huge, nonstop pajama party."

"Oh, fuck off," Joey said, irritated. He got up and went to the kitchen, still clutching his mug.

"Can you translate that?" Phil asked, turning to look at Billy.

"Yeah, it means you need to lighten up, okay?" Billy said. He wanted to follow Joey to the kitchen, but didn't. He had the feeling that he'd end up doing something stupid, and that it would be much less simple to translate. He wondered again what Phil had seen back in September, and if it bothered him.

"I want to look around," Ric volunteered, turning the television off. "I hear this city's cool."

"If you're a fratboy prep, maybe," Phil said gloomily.

"So do I," Joey said, returning without the mug.

"So, we get cleaned up and go out, how's that?" Billy suggested, relieved.

"Plan," Ric said, and darted off the couch. "Dibs on the shower!"

"Everything's dibs this weekend," Joey said vaguely, reaching for the remote. He turned the television back on.

Billy fell into the roller coaster sequence of the next _Beetlejuice_ episode, wondering if _he_ had dibs or not.

* * *

As college towns went, Providence was pretty standard. They wandered a bunch of hilly side streets through residential areas until they ended up at a busy intersection. Joey stared at the pedestrian signal until it flashed them a green _WALK_ signal.

"Looks like the main drag to me," he said, storming the crosswalk.

"This isn't New York, Joey," Billy reminded him, running to catch up. "No hurry."

"You wanna tell those drivers that?" Joey asked, glancing back over his shoulder. There were two cars nosed right up to the crosswalk lines, an impatient twenty-something at the wheel of each.

Billy shut his mouth and rushed to the other side.

"There's nothing to do around here until evening," Phil said, taking the lead once they'd all gotten across. "There are shops and stuff, but that's not everybody's speed. You need a Brown I.D. to use the campus gym, and – "

"You know what's fun?" Joey cut in.

"What?" Ric asked.

"Sneaking into buildings," he said. "Is there a music department?"

"Yeah, what school in New England _doesn't_ have one," Phil sighed.

Joey stopped chewing his lip and broke into a smile.

"Do you know how much fun music buildings are? They're fucking easy to get into, all you have to do is pretend you have business being there. The practice rooms are always open. I remember this one time in Manhattan, we – "

"Are you out of your mind?" Phil asked.

"No," Billy said, stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket to shield them from the wind. "He's not. Think of the potential."

"For _what_?"

"Hot chicks," Ric said, nodding slowly. "Dude, at UCLA, those voice majors? Hot."

"Point," Phil admitted grudgingly.

"They're kind of spacy, too," Ric added.

"I thought all the chicks in California were spacy," Joey said.

"Nope, I met this opera girl from NEC the other weekend in Cambridge. Space cadet."

"We need a campus map," Billy said, anxious to cut through the stupid chatter. Ric had girls on the brain more than half the time, and Phil was more of a pushover than he liked to let on. "Joey, did you see any around the house?"

"No," Joey said, "but I bet if we find the bookstore – "

"A map would blow our cover," Phil protested.

"Not to take with us," Billy corrected, starting up the sidewalk again. "Just for a quick referral, so we can find the place from memory."

"I suck with maps," Ric said. "Don't look at me."

"I don't," Joey said, catching up with Billy. "C'mon."

Luckily, Phil knew that the bookstore was only a few blocks away, and after two wrong turns and a lot of swearing, they found it. It closed early on Saturdays, and since it was already three in the afternoon, they made a hurried job of the map-study. Joey said he had it, and Billy was pretty sure he could find it as long as their orientation wasn't off. Phil nodded, saying he knew where campus in general was, and Ric just stood there looking grateful.

* * *

"Why did I not expect this to remind me of Regis?" Ric asked, staring up at the Orwig building, amazed.

"Red brick is Rule #1 of Private Liberal Arts Institutions," Joey said, starting up the steps. "Let's go. Remember, we _belong_ here."

"Right," Ric said. "I belong. With the chicks."

"You're an idiot," Phil said, and pushed him.

"This is gonna be interesting," Billy said, walking beside Joey.

"Yeah, but that's kind of the point," Joey said, grinning. He held the door. "After you."

It was warm and bright inside, and there wasn't a check-in desk of any kind. There was no lack of hallways to choose from, so Billy turned left and hoped that everybody else would follow. Joey wasn't the only one who could worm his way onto strange turf. It was just that Billy wouldn't have thought of a music department, although it made sense. At gyms, they _always_ asked for I.D.

He could hear some faint noise already, several pianos being played at the fluid speed of genius. A tenor was warming up in the first room that they passed, and he sounded more like a show tunes kind of guy than a classical singer. Billy thought of Snuffy.

Joey stepped cautiously up to the next door, peering through the glass.

"Nobody's in here," he said. "Shhh."

He opened the door and beckoned for everyone to follow.

The room was fairly large, with scattered music stands and a smooth, black grand piano. Joey sat down at the bench and ran his fingers over the keys, hitting a chord with his left hand. Billy knew he was amazing on the guitar, but as far as he knew, Joey didn't take piano lessons. Maybe he had when he was younger.

"Wish Hank was here," he said.

"What?" Billy asked. That struck him as weird; Joey and Hank weren't great friends by any means. In fact, they talked to each other less than anybody else in the gang.

"He plays," Phil said. "Didn't you know? Killer jazz, yeah."

Billy blinked.

"He had this keyboard sophomore year," Ric said, leaning against the radiator. "He played it a lot until his parents made him take it home because his grades sucked."

"No kidding," Billy said. He wondered what else they were hiding.

Joey continued to play scattered chords, shaping slow, tentative phrases with his right hand. It didn't sound like anything Billy knew, but it had substance enough that even the others were listening without complaint. For a minute, he thought he heard a snippet from Billy Joel's "Lullaby," but it passed as quickly as it began.

"What the hell did you drag us in here for, just to screw around?" Phil asked. "Play something."

"Don't remember much," Joey said, pausing so that the notes drifted and lingered in echo around them. "It's been a few years. I hated lessons."

"I once heard you're either a guitar man or a piano man," Ric said philosophically, staring out the window.

Suddenly Joey hit three chords that weren't nonsense anymore, and _sang_.

"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffles in..."

"Holy fuck," Billy said. He'd only ever heard Joey speak.

"Shut up," Phil hissed. "I like this song!"

Ric was swaying a little, maybe grinning at some memory.

"He said, 'Son, can you play me a melody? I'm not really sure how it goes...'"

"What the hell else don't I know, huh?" Billy hissed back.

"Wait and see, my friend," Phil said, walking over to the piano. He set his hands flat on the top, maybe to be dramatic, or maybe just feeling the vibrations. "Wait and see."

Joey grinned at him, almost apologetic.

"La da da, de de da da..." 

_Da da, de de da, da da,_ Billy thought miserably. He couldn't carry a tune in a handbasket bound for hell.

* * *

"Where I go to school?" Ric echoed blankly.

"Yeah," said the girl, nodding brightly. "Around here, or are you up in Boston?" She had brown eyes and an anxious look.

"You might say that," Billy said, coming to Ric's rescue. "He's at UCLA, but he's visiting. Long weekend out there, too."

What was her name – Miranda – looked at Billy, then back at Ric.

"California, _really_?"

"Yeah," Ric croaked, partly because Phil had elbowed him.

"Econ major," Joey said from the floor, where he was still flipping through her binder of sheet music. "His dad's a lawyer."

Miranda frowned slightly. "I guess you don't make it out here much, do you?"

"Well – " Ric opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"Alas," Billy said, offering her a consoling smile.

"Where'd you find this Sondheim?" Joey asked, peering up with wide eyes. "I've never seen this, _where_ – "

"I think we had better get going," Billy said, hauling him up by the shoulder. "It was...um, nice meeting you."

"Are you from California, too?" Miranda asked, disappointed.

* * *

"I can't believe this," Ric moaned for the tenth time. "You ruined my chance!"

"Ric, you ruined it for yourself," Joey said. "You're in _high school_."

"Yeah, so are you."

"Notice I wasn't drooling on her like a mute puppy."

"No, but you were drooling on her music."

"Hey, unless _you_ know something about a show called 'The Baker's Wife,' you just shut your trap, okay?"

"Cut it out," Billy said. "She wasn't worth it anyway."

"I don't know," Phil said, glancing at the awning overhead. "She had some pretty nice – "

"Don't remind me," Ric sighed.

After a brief argument over dinner, they ended up at a Subway. Joey took a seat as soon as they got inside, muttering to Billy that he'd share whatever he was having, not like it would make any difference, it was all crap anyway. Phil rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong with subs?" Ric wondered aloud.

"With Joey, there's always something," Phil muttered when the line had moved barely enough to take them out of earshot.

"Quiet," Billy said. "He'll hear you. Why should you care? He's picky."

"Yeah, and a fucking time bomb," Phil said nervously. "I'm just _waiting_ for something to go to shit this weekend, you know that?"

"Funny, I seem to remember you all but begging us to come," Billy said, suddenly furious. "Maybe you and Ric would've had a better time alone."

"Maybe you and Joey would've, too."

Ric glanced back and forth between the two of them, then pushed ahead in line, mumbling something about having nothing to do with this.

"Another word," Billy said, pointing at Phil's nose, "and this weekend's gonna go to shit because of _me_ , got it?"

"Yeah," Phil said, swallowing, and stared hard a the menu.

Joey looked up anxiously when they got back with the food, swinging his legs down from the chair beside him. "Everything okay?" he asked.

 _Shit_ , Billy thought. "Yeah, s'great. Couldn't make up our minds."

"I noticed," Joey said, and reached for the cup in Billy's left hand.

"Dr. Pepper," he said. "Or here's Coke, if you want."

Joey shook his head, ignoring Phil and Ric across the table.

"Don't worry about it," Billy said softly, and sat down. He set the sub between them. "Okay?"

"If that," Joey said sardonically, poking the wrapper with suspicion.

They ate in near silence, much to Billy's relief. Joey tended not to talk much when he ate anyway, but Ric, usually talkative, was staring around the place as if all the bright yellow was going to give him a nervous tic. Billy felt bad about threatening Phil, but he'd been too angry at the moment to do anything else. If they made Phil uneasy, why had he bugged them into going? Billy had _wanted_ to go, but if Joey had put up enough of a fight about staying at Regis, hell, he would've stayed.

 

 _And held him_ , Billy thought, and his stomach closed on itself.

"You sure you're feeling okay?" Joey asked, pushing the Coke at him.

"Yeah," Billy said, grinning weakly. "Nothing a drink won't fix."

* * *

When they got back, the house was cold.

"Shit," Phil muttered, kicking his sneakers off with such force that they bounced off the wall. " _Shit_."

"What?" Ric asked, rubbing his hands together. "All we have to do is turn the heat up."

"The heat's not working, genius," Phil said, tapping the thermostat angrily. "Leo mentioned that it cuts out, but he didn't actually expect..."

"It to get cold this weekend," Joey finished. "Yeah. Some Indian summer."

"I hope you guys brought sweaters," Phil said, trudging upstairs.

"You're kidding, right?" Ric said, dashing after him.

Billy waited until they were gone, then looked at Joey.

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Bring a sweater," Billy said. "I've got this hooded thing, if you want it."

"I brought the dark gray one," Joey said, bending to untie his shoes. "Thanks, though."

"That can't be warm enough," Billy said, before he could stop himself.

Joey looked up with an unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes softened quickly. "Look, I'm gonna be all right."

"We'll trade beds, though. Water gets cold."

"No, we won't," Joey said, pointing one written-on Chuck toe in Billy's face. " _You'd_ get cold."

"You get cold faster than I do!" Billy protested.

"Drop it," Joey said, and the shoe fell.

When Phil got back, he was wearing this horrible thing that probably had a name like "argyle," and Ric was wearing a Brown sweatshirt that was way too big for him. Joey was on the couch, still wearing his jacket, and Billy contemplated going upstairs to fetch their own stuff. Against his better judgment, he said that's exactly what he was going to do.

"Fine," Joey said, standing up. "How about Irish coffee?"

Billy hesitated on the stairs, listening.

"What's it with you and putting booze in hot stuff?" Ric asked.

"I iced the tea first," Joey reminded him, and went to the kitchen, which was where Billy found him.

"There," he said, draping Joey's hoodie over his head.

"Watch it, I'm cooking here," Joey said, brushing it over his shoulder.

"Um, that's a coffee pot," Billy said.

"Brewing. Whatever. This stuff takes whiskey, right?"

"Yeah," Billy said. His father was fond of it on cold nights.

Between the two of them, they managed to produce four steaming cups of coffee that were at least a third Wild Turkey each. Joey refused to carry them any farther than the table, so Billy yelled in the direction of the living room that the coffee was up.

"That's gross," Ric said, cringing over a sip.

"You think everything's gross," Phil said, taking a tentative swallow.

"You get used to it," Billy said. He wrapped both hands around his mug, glad he'd decided to put his sweatshirt on.

Joey blew on his a few times and swilled it around, then took a long sip. He wrinkled his nose, but he took another as soon as he'd swallowed.

"What time is it?" Ric asked.

Joey glanced at his watch. "Almost eight," he said.

"Funny, what you can do to waste a day," Phil said.

"C'mon, you had fun," Billy said, biting the rim of his mug. "Admit it."

"The entertainment was good, anyway."

Joey smiled faintly into his coffee.

"What I want to know is, how long will it take for the heat to come back?" Ric asked, worried.

"Hours," Phil said. "Could take all night."

"Do they forget to pay the bill, or something?" Billy asked, his concern for Joey returning out of nowhere.

"No," Phil said. "These guys? Are you kidding? The gas company's full of jerks, that's all."

"Mom had this internet thing that would take incoming calls while she was online," Ric said irrelevantly, "and even after she canceled the service, they kept sending her a bill every once in a while."

"Paperwork sucks," Joey said in an unusually heavy voice, and Billy glanced over to see his mug empty. "'M not looking forward to paperwork. I'm having more, anybody want?"

"Sure," Billy said, watching him get up. "Just bring the whole pot."

"Bourbon," Phil said. "Don't forget."

Since there wasn't much coffee left, the second round consisted more of Wild Turkey than it consisted of coffee. Billy didn't mind, as he prided himself on doing shots with the best of them, but the others didn't strike him as shot kinds of guys, especially not Joey. Ric, however, surprised him. He downed his second mug and didn't seem to be showing any side effects, which was strange, because he'd looked pretty green after last night's concoctions. Maybe he just couldn't mix his shit.

"I don't like this," Phil said finally, only halfway done with his. "What about hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps?"

"Oh, s'good," Joey said out of the blue. "You got cocoa?"

"Dunno," Phil said, frowning. "You'd have to check."

Joey swallowed the last of his mug and started to get up, but Billy caught his arm.

"I've got it."

Joey gave him a loopy, lop-sided grin.

"Thanks."

Billy got up and took the Wild Turkey with him.

* * *

"Hey," Ric said, slurping this time. "S'not bad! Maybe some tequila—"

"Ew, no," Billy said, shivering over his hot cocoa. "Just, _no_." Though it did explain Ric's tolerance for shots.

"Tequila's gross," Phil said, grimacing into his mug, "and so's this."

"Chocolate, 's...it's," Joey began, then paused to take a rather unsteady sip, eyes wandering up to the ceiling, "good. Very good, can't go wrong."

Billy was trying to keep a discreet eye on him, but he had the feeling he was failing spectacularly. He felt somewhat lightheaded, but he wasn't drunk, and he suspected that maybe he oughtn't have any more after this. Joey had put a _lot_ of peppermint schnapps in this time, and he was on his second cup. Fourth. Something. Billy took a last sip of his own and pushed it away.

"I told you," Phil said suspiciously, kind of pink in the cheeks. "Tastes like shit."

"I like it," Billy insisted. "I'm just done."

Joey drained the rest of his mug with a hum, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, wearing the same wide-eyed look that he'd given Miranda over the music.

Billy considered this for a few seconds, realizing that his reaction time was kind of delayed, and said, "I think you're done, too."

"Nope. Gonna f'nish yours."

"Sorry," Ric said. He was already drinking it.

Joey sighed, letting go of his mug.

Billy barely caught it in time. The handle clinked hard against the table, cracking under his hand.

"Fuck!"

"Whatever," Phil said, waving his hand more in Ric's direction than Billy's. "Let 'em suffer, the douchebags."

Abruptly, Joey cracked up.

"Phil," Billy said, sweeping the pieces away from Joey with the back of his hand, "whose mug was—"

"Don't know, don't care."

Joey just laughed harder.

"Yeah, okay," Ric said, trying desperately to look sober. "Done. Don't wanna get cut, man."

"Nobody's getting cut," Billy said, dropping the slivered handle inside the body of the mug. "They'd want me to throw it out?"

Phil shrugged, downing the rest of his drink.

"I guess," Joey gasped, and buried his head in his arms, too hysterical to catch his breath.

"Great," Billy muttered, and carried the mug to the trash.

"Anybody wanna poker?" Ric asked.

"No," Billy said, head swimming gently, stepping up behind Joey's chair. "Too drunk."

"Yeah," Phil said too seriously. "Way."

Joey's muffled giggles broke on a hiccup.

Impulsively, Billy set a hand at the nape of his neck, patting carefully. "Joey, are you—uh, are you okay?" he asked.

Joey finally lifted his head and turned slightly, swaying in his chair. "No," he said earnestly, looking up at Billy with a moment's clarity.

"Okay," Billy said decisively, tugging him up from the chair. "Party's over."

Joey swayed into him, then caught his balance against the tabletop. For a moment, he looked frightened. He wrapped his arm around Billy's, taking a deep breath. "Yeah," he managed, "better not. Done."

"Aw," Ric said. "I wanna play cards."

"Me too," Phil said, getting up unsteadily. "S'in the drawer."

"Play you for homework," Ric said recklessly.

"Jesus, okay," Billy muttered, throwing discretion to the wind. "You have fun," he added, slipping an arm around Joey's waist and turning him in the direction of the door. "C'mon."

"Billy," Joey said with some gravity, "whole room tilting."

"Slow," Billy murmured, tightening his hold. "Take it slow."

* * *

It was a wonder they got up the stairs at all. Joey half staggered into the bedroom, and Billy found it almost impossible to hold him upright while he closed and locked the door. Perhaps locking it wasn't smart, in case he needed help from one of the others, but Joey probably wouldn't forgive him if he let somebody else hang around while he was that pissed. Come to think of it, Billy had never seen him this bad, not even that night with the beer.

"Better lay down," Joey breathed, clinging to Billy with both hands now, eyes tightly closed. At least he wasn't slurring as much.

"Yeah," Billy said. "Over here."

Without thinking, he guided Joey to the water bed. Joey sprawled in an ungainly heap, much too close to the edge. It had, Billy reasoned, more room than the twin anyway, so he shifted Joey over onto the pillow with some effort and sat down beside him. The water rolled placidly under them, rising and falling.

Joey opened his eyes, taking shallow breaths.

"Does that make you sick?" Billy asked, amazed at his own stupidity. "Fuck, gotta move you—"

"No," Joey said, catching his wrist. "No moving. S'fine."

"Look, if you're gonna throw up or something, I think we should be closer to the—"

"I'm _not_ ," Joey insisted, giving Billy's wrist a good yank.

"Ow," Billy said. "Fine." He shifted position so that his foot wasn't asleep anymore. "But you had better tell me if you're sick, got it?"

Joey nodded faintly. He didn't let go of Billy's wrist.

"Hey," Billy said softly, loosening Joey's grip just enough to slide his own hand into Joey's. "I'm sorry."

Joey shook his head against the pillow, brow furrowing. 

"F'r what?"

Billy settled down onto his side so that the angle was easier on his arm. It brought him closer to Joey's face, which was kind of unnerving. Flushed like that, Joey looked both fragile and dangerous.

"Being a jerk, I guess."

Joey laughed. "You're not the gas company, Billy," he said.

"No," Billy laughed, shaking his head in spite of himself. "I'm not." He squeezed Joey's hand, rubbing the back with his thumb. Joey's fingers felt cold.

Joey watched him with the strange, still contemplation that seemed to come with being totally smashed. And cradled his hand, then kissed it.

"Uh," Billy said, reflexively pulling away. "Joey, I think—"

"You're such a fucking jerk," Joey said, and rolled over to face the window.

Billy felt his stomach clench with panic.

"Joey! You—you just—"

"Yeah. 'N you freaked out, end of story."

Billy reached for his shoulder, which was the first big mistake. "Look," he said desperately, "I'm not freaked out. I'm _not_." He managed to get enough of a hold on Joey to roll him back over—which was the second.

Joey's eyes glittered in the dimness, maybe tears, or probably just anger.

"I know what I'm doing," Joey said in a whisper.

"Do you?" Billy asked, which was the third and final.

"Yeah," Joey said softly, raising his hand to Billy's cheek, and kissed him on the mouth.

 _Fuck_ , Billy thought, but what he did was kiss Joey back.

Joey's lips were soft, softer than Joey's fingertips against his cheek. Long, slow seconds passed with nothing but this, nothing but the press of lips and the barest hint of damp, shivering breath. Billy held Joey's hand in place, lacing their fingers.

"Joey," he began, pulling back, "if we do this—"

"And if we _don't_?" Joey challenged, his eyes so wide and close that they seemed a warm, welcoming darkness against the chill of the dull and unfamiliar room.

 _We might regret it_ , Billy thought, and fell into them.

Joey opened his mouth this time, fisting one hand in Billy's bunched-up sweatshirt. Billy shivered and did the same, acutely aware that he hadn't even tried this recently with a girl. Joey's tongue in his mouth was clumsy and a little shocking, but when the tight fist at his hip loosened and slipped down to rest on his thigh, the shock settled low in his stomach, heat instead of cold. Awkwardly, he moved his hand from Joey's cheek down to his hip.

Joey clamped his own over it, breaking the kiss with a breathless hiss of laughter.

"'M ticklish," he muttered, and buried his face against Billy's neck.

"I'll, um, remember that," Billy said, smoothing the spot with as firm and definite a touch as he could manage. Joey's shirts rode up under the touch, leaving his palm flat against warm, soft skin. Billy froze, swallowing hard, trying not to squirm against the unpleasant tightness of his jeans.

Joey let out a long, slow breath that sent shivers down Billy's spine. He stroked the back of Billy's hand tentatively, then encircled his wrist.

"It's chilly in here," he said, sounding almost lucid again.

"Yeah," Billy murmured, letting his hand glide carefully up Joey's back. "D'you want—" Billy bit his tongue and swore, but it came out more of a hiss. Joey's hand slid under his shirt and up his stomach.

"Yeah," Joey whispered, breath hot and shallow against his ear.

It happened much too quickly for Billy to protest. Joey let go of him and rolled away, struggling out of his shirts. After a few stunned seconds, Billy sat up and reached for the cursing, tangled bundle that was Joey.

"There," he said, finally pulling all of Joey's various sleeves clear of his arms. "Don't suffocate yourself, okay?"

Joey just blinked at him, bleary-eyed and half stripped and fucking _beautiful_

"Oh, Jesus," Billy whispered. He ran his fingers through his hair and turned away. He couldn't—

"Nice try," Joey said, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Billy caught his wrists. " _Joey_ —"

"Sit still," Joey insisted, right in his ear again, gathering Billy's sweatshirt up at his sides, "and let me do this."

Billy took a deep breath, and it felt like his last. _I'm probably dreaming anyway_ , he thought, and lifted his arms in surrender. The room was colder than he thought it would be. He watched his sweatshirt land on the floor.

"Billy," Joey said softly, winding both arms around him from behind.

Billy closed his eyes and glided his fingertips over Joey's elbows. For a dream, it felt eerily real.

"Just, um...give me a second?" he asked, feeling his voice give out as he lowered his hands to the fly of his jeans.

"'Kay," Joey whispered, and kissed his shoulder before letting go.

Billy fumbled at the button until he felt it pop, fingers slipping as he forced the zipper down, listening to Joey's harsh breathing behind him. Dizzy, he kicked off his jeans and pushed down his boxers. The mattress rippled wildly, and Joey's fingers brushed the small of his back.

As hard as his heart was pounding, as fiercely as his cheeks scorched with embarrassment, turning around suddenly became a matter of life or death.

Joey was still, hand outstretched, crouched naked beside the pillow.

"Hi," Billy whispered, gently taking his hand. He tried not to stare, but failed instantly. Joey looked as hard as Billy felt—vulnerable, but unashamed.

Wordlessly, Joey tugged him close.

Billy groaned into Joey's mouth, wrapping one arm around his waist. Joey's skin was as smooth as he had imagined, and Joey seemed just as eager to test Billy's, shifting awkwardly into his lap. Billy felt his head spin, and knew exactly what Joey had been talking about. He held Joey tightly and sank backwards, body tensing as Joey's weight bore down and the mattress rolled up to meet him.

"Sorry," Joey panted, straddling him now, leaning over, "it's just..."

He seemed to forget why he was apologizing, eyes round and pensive.

Billy gathered the last of his sanity and touched Joey's cheek, trailing his knuckles down to Joey's lower lip.

"It's okay," Billy whispered, which was, two seconds later, an understatement.

Without hesitation, Joey slid his hand from the center of Billy's chest to where his cock brushed against Joey's belly. His hips jerked under the touch, but he was pinned sufficiently by Joey's weight that he wasn't going anywhere. Billy clutched at Joey's thighs, trembling.

"How's that?" Joey asked, watching him with a look that was somehow both dazed and intent.

"Yes," Billy gasped, thrusting up on purpose this time. " _God_ , yes."

"Good," Joey whispered, almost predatory. He let go of Billy without warning, stretching over him with a low, hungry moan.

Billy kissed him desperately, unable to think of anything else. There was, of course, the dim realization that Joey wasn't sober and there was no way in hell that they should be doing this, but the dream theory kind of canceled that out, and Joey was clearly not taking _no_ for an answer. He settled for kissing instead, and moving— _oh_ , how Joey moved—until they were both nearly sobbing and Joey's nails dug five blunt warnings into his shoulder.

" _Billy_."

That soft, pleading whimper was more than enough.

Billy bit his lip on a scream, mouth crushed to Joey's damp hair. Joey was shaking, hard, moaning something into his ear that he couldn't make out, and he was sure that the breath had been knocked so far out of him that it might never return. As his heartbeat slowly returned to normal, the sweat cooled on his skin, but the wet heat plastered to his belly changed with Joey's erratic breathing—spreading and cooling, warming and drying. He ran an unsteady hand down Joey's spine, blinking at the ceiling.

"You..." Billy cleared his throat and tried again. "You okay?"

Joey nodded, a groggy nuzzle against Billy's neck.

"Good," Billy whispered, stroking Joey's hair, listening as his breathing faded into sleep.

He closed his eyes, pushing off the hazy thought that dreams usually worked the other way around.

* * *

Billy woke to the sensation of covers.

He was alone in the water bed, sheets and comforter pulled up to his chin, and for a moment, he had no idea how he had gotten there. His confusion didn't last long, however, as his apparent state of nakedness summoned recollections that he would just as soon have left to sleep, especially since they involved Joey, and Joey was no longer _there_.

"Fuck," Billy whispered, stumbling out of bed. " _Fuck_."

He hesitated for a moment, staring down at the dried mess on his stomach. _Definitely_ not good. In fact, there couldn't be a less accurate way of putting it. The word he was probably looking for was "catastrophe," and unfortunately, this was one for which he couldn't see a convenient way out.

Shower. Before he worried about anything else, like where the hell Joey was, he had to find a shower. Maybe it would help him think.

Billy remembered that the bathroom was more or less right beside them, so slipping into the hall and behind the door was easily done. Once inside, he locked the door and took a few deep breaths, hoping there were towels in the small closet. There were, an assortment ranging from ratty to decent, and he had no idea whose were whose or even which he could use. Hoping for the best, he grabbed an old striped one at random and set it down on top of the toilet.

The water was freezing at first, but the loss of heat – which didn't seem to be the case anymore, as the bathroom was comfortably warm – didn't seem to have affected it. It only took him a few seconds to figure out how to switch it from spigot to shower, and the first blast that rained down on his head was as cold as when he'd first turned it on. Billy shivered and flattened himself against the tile wall, waiting for the hot water to come through. He stepped under it gratefully, turning his face into its full force.

Number one, he should've known better than to let Joey drink so much hard liquor. He reached blindly for the bar of soap that he'd seen on the hanging caddy, knocking it to the floor of the tub. He swore, bending down to retrieve it, and managed to knock his head off the spigot on the way back up. Billy hissed in pain, rubbing the spot furiously. 

Number two, he should've known better than to hover, what with his stupid tendency to _worry_. Billy ran the soap over his chest and stomach, letting the suds carry away all evidence of what had happened. Well, maybe not all. He suspected that those sore spots on his collarbone and shoulder _looked_ as bright as they felt. Thank God that tank top season had passed.

Number three, Joey had insisted every step of the way, and Billy had done nothing to stop him. Oh, sure, he'd _tried_ , but not even the sting of shampoo in his eyes was enough to distract him from the fact that he'd been shamefully unsuccessful. He hadn't been as drunk as Joey, but he hadn't been sober _enough_ to –

"Hey, who's in there?" shouted somebody from outside the door.

"Uh," Billy called back. "It's me."

"Oh, okay," the voice called back, by now recognizably Phil's. "Breakfast's on. Just so you know."

"What?" Billy asked, but there was no answer. Still, it could only mean one thing.

Billy took his time getting dressed, knowing full well what was waiting for him in the kitchen, or at least a likely variation on what was waiting. Phil and Ric at the table, teasing each other about who sucked worst at poker. Orange juice, eggs, and jam scattered all over the place, maybe a half empty package of bacon. Joey at the stove, staring at the frying pan in fierce concentration, doing his best not to look up. Awkward silences, forced laughter. And hangovers, of course – some genuine, some not.

He wandered down barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt, and he was more or less completely off the mark.

Ric was sprawled out on the couch in the living room, snoring, dead to the world. He paused to look at him for a couple seconds, deciding against waking him. He'd probably have a nasty headache, high tolerance or not. As Billy approached the kitchen, he heard the sound of easy conversation. He could see Phil at the table, turned in the direction of the stove.

 _Please, God,_ Billy thought, eyes glued to the floor as he walked in. _Make it painless_.

"'Morning," Phil said, mouth full of – toast. "Hope the shower didn't freeze out?"

"Nope," Billy said, pulling out the chair beside him. "Seems to be working fine."

"Good," Phil said, getting up, and Billy noticed that his plate was empty except for crumbs and jam smears. "I'm next."

"You want something?" Joey asked, and Billy had to force himself to look up.

Joey had showered already; he was in clean clothes, and his hair was damp, curling a bit as the heat from the skillet dried it. He was making something that required a lot of flipping, but what it was, Billy couldn't tell, and it definitely wasn't toast, because the toaster was pulled out on the counter, probably because Phil had done his own thing. Was it a fend for yourself kind of morning? Billy scratched his neck, shrugging.

"What're you making?"

Joey set the spatula aside and turned around, yawning.

"French toast," he said. "I think there's enough bread left for two."

Billy glanced away, trying to sound cheerful. "Hey, that'd be – "

Joey walked over to him, and Billy couldn't help but notice that the only signs of stress seemed to be the dark circles under his eyes and tired heaviness in his step. Otherwise, he seemed to think nothing of bending down – or almost nothing, as he hesitated for a _split_ second, long enough for Billy to notice – and pressing a kiss to Billy's mouth.

"How many?" he asked, standing up straight again.

"Um – what?" Billy asked, blinking rapidly.

Joey's face fell. 

"Never mind. Toast. How many pieces of – "

"Wait," Billy said, catching his hand before he moved out of reach. "Wait, that wasn't what I – "

"Hey, whass cooking?"

Joey dropped Billy's hand and turned to look at Ric, who was standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes.

"French toast," Joey said. "Want any?"

"Yeah," Ric said vaguely, and wandered over to the table.

Billy took another deep breath – he'd never taken so many in his life – and fixed Joey with a firm look.

"Two," he replied. "I'll have two."

"What he said," Ric mumbled, and fell asleep face-first on the table.

After breakfast, Billy volunteered to do the dishes, but by then Phil was done in the bathroom and said, likely out of some sense of obligation, that he'd do them, and that everybody else should get the hell out of the kitchen. Billy found himself sitting on the couch between Ric and Joey, staring dazed at the television, which wasn't even turned on. He wished he had the remote, and had the sinking feeling he was sitting on it.

Joey yawned, breaking the silence.

"D'you have any idea what time it is?"

"Nope," Ric said, curling up in his corner, resting his head on the arm, "and I really, _really_ don't care."

"It's pretty light outside," Billy said, giving Joey a careful look. "I'd say it's at least noon."

"At least," Joey said, eyes wandering to the window. "I didn't bother to check."

Billy made sure that Ric was well on his way to sleep before he reached over and touched Joey's hand.

"That was good," he said, offering Joey an awkward smile.

Joey gave him a mildly confused look, as if he had understood, but had to make sure Billy hadn't gone completely nuts.

"The French toast," Billy clarified. "I mean it."

"Oh. Oh, thanks," Joey said, turning a shade of pink that Billy hadn't known was possible.

Billy stared at the floor. He hadn't meant it to come out like that.

Joey glanced out the window again, then stood up, stretching.

"I'm gonna see if Phil needs help drying, okay?"

Billy just nodded again, and realized that it was going to be a very, _very_ long day.

* * *

A couple of hours passed before they had a slight problem on their hands. Ric kept falling asleep, and when he finally did wake up, he was so sick that none of them knew what to do about it. Phil hovered in the bathroom doorway, watching anxiously while Joey steadied Ric at the toilet and Billy soaked a washcloth with water as cold as he could get it.

"What else did he have?" Joey asked. " _Jesus_."

Billy turned the water off and looked at Phil, who shifted uneasily.

"A few shots of rum. Vodka?"

"That helps," Joey muttered, reaching to take the washcloth from Billy.

Ric made a pathetic sort of choked sound and set his chin on the toilet seat. Joey mopped his forehead with the washcloth, saying he was okay, he just needed to get it all out. Billy shoved his hands in his pockets and sat down on the wicker hamper, wondering how on earth he'd managed to fall in with a bunch of guys who cared for each other so goddamned much. He couldn't think of anything like it at his previous schools, or maybe there had been, and he just hadn't been a part of it. Either way, it was new to him, and Joey more often than not seemed to be smack in the middle, whether it was a fight or a display of loyalty. He couldn't seem to help wearing his heart on his sleeve – or in those unbelievable eyes of his.

"We've gotta do something, Billy," he was saying, looking up at him from beside the toilet. Ric was shaking.

"Don't they say coffee's good for a hangover?" Billy asked, searching his mind for every remedy he'd ever heard.

"There's some out in the pot," Phil said. "It just needs to be heated up."

"Not too much," Joey said. "Dammit, I used all the bread but the end pieces."

"Huh?"

"Toast," Joey said. "Make a couple pieces of toast, too."

"Oh, yeah," Billy said. His mom always did that when he had the stomach flu.

"I'm on it," Phil said, and left immediately. He sounded guilty as hell.

"No Coke, either," Joey sighed, patting Ric on the back. "Coffee might upset him."

"I could go get some, if you want," Billy said, taking the lukewarm washcloth away from Joey and tossing it in the sink. "That one drugstore's not too far."

"It's Sunday," Joey said, discouraged. "Looked like a little neighborhood place, might be closed."

"Then I'll keep walking till I find something," Billy said, determined. Letting Ric down would mean letting Joey down, and he wasn't about to concede defeat. Not without trying, anyway.

Joey rubbed Ric's back and sighed, then met Billy's eyes. He looked even more tired than he had looked earlier.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," Billy said, and left before he had the urge to bend down over Ric and kiss Joey's cheek.

It was chilly outside like it had been the day before, but the sky was clear, and it was difficult to imagine feeling sick when everything seemed so bright and normal. Then again, it was also difficult to imagine that what had happened the night before had _actually happened_. Didn't the world move when things like this happened? Didn't life turn into a movie? A really bad one, maybe, because the drugstore was closed, just as Joey had predicted. 

Billy walked on, determined not to lose his head over this. Ric needed something, that much was certain, and that something was probably medical attention. They were just a bunch of dumb fucks with no real clue about taking care of damage they'd caused themselves, and there was Joey with his amazing tendency to come out of the woodwork with shit that you hadn't even known was hiding in that head of his. Without him around, they'd probably all die of alcohol poisoning.

Except Joey could be reckless, and he'd proved himself more reckless than Billy had ever thought possible – and worse, Billy had gone along with it.

Three blocks from where Billy had started, there was a gas station on the corner that had not only cases of Coke stacked out front, but chilled two-liter bottles inside. Billy grabbed two and carried them up to the counter, and he threw in a Twix bar as an afterthought. Joey's guilty pleasure was cheap chocolate and caramel. It wasn't flowers, sure, but he hoped it would convey the message: _Last night was really fucking amazing even if you don't remember half of it, and can you ever forgive me?_

Yeah, right. Billy shook his head and took the change, dragging his bag off the counter.

* * *

"Dinner," Phil said. "Anybody want dinner?"

Ric threw a pillow off the couch, which hit Phil square in the face.

"Don't you fucking _talk_ about food, got it?"

"Watch it," Billy said. Ric had almost knocked his glass of Coke and ice off the arm of the couch.

"There's stuff in the freezer," Joey said, stretching out on the floor, eyes glued to the television as he maneuvered Mario through a wickedly difficult dungeon. "Did your cousin say anything about that?"

"Fair game," Phil said, absently hitting a few buttons on his own controller.

Billy edged a bit closer to Joey's feet and kicked his ankle, but it was a failed distraction. Joey just hit pause and cast Billy an annoyed glance over his shoulder.

"No cheating," Ric said from the couch. "I'm the ref, remember?"

"Yeah, and it took you ten minutes to realize that Duck Hunt has no point," Phil said, making an indiscreet gesture of triumph as Mario got nailed with a fireball and Joey threw his controller at the television.

"I fucking hate this game!"

"You do not," Billy said, scooting back to lean against the couch. "C'mere," he said, patting the patch of carpet beside him.

Much to his surprise, Joey came, but not without giving him a kick in the ankle first.

"You're next, loser," he said, settling so close his shoulder almost touched Billy's. "I'm gonna kick your ass. You suck at the third level."

"Matter of opinion," Billy said, shrugging. "You can't dodge the bullets worth shit."

"I'm working on it," Joey said, and kicked him again.

"Kids, kids," Phil said, resuming Luigi where he'd last kicked it. "Settle down."

Billy glanced over his shoulder at the couch cushions. Ric seemed to be asleep again, and it was just as well. He was tired of moving the bucket to wherever Ric needed it, and thankfully, he hadn't needed it in a while. The sour stomach seemed to be blowing over. Thank God, because they didn't know any doctors, and if they had called Brown's health center, there was no telling what kind of problems that might have caused. They weren't students, and only one of them was related.

Either Joey didn't care anymore or he'd lost his concentration, because he quickly blew his two remaining lives on the same dungeon and went out to the kitchen. Billy stayed to watch Phil advance and _beat_ the dungeon before joining him. Phil reset the game and started over with a one-player.

Joey was standing at the counter, staring at the directions on the back of a large cardboard box.

"What _is_ that?"

"Some kind of mashed-potato shepherd's pie thing," Joey said, chewing on his lip. "Easy enough."

"What do you have to do, poke holes in it and just let it go for two hours?" Billy asked.

"Not quite two hours," Joey said. "Set the oven to 375, would you?"

They got it in the oven without incident, although Joey had been disapproving of Billy's idea of holes. Knife slashes, he said, were a bit big.

"Who taught you to cook?" Billy asked, and Joey's indignant look turned to something calmer and much darker.

"My mother," Joey said, and walked over to the sink, staring out the window at the settling dusk.

"Oh," Billy said. He had heard the story enough times to know that she was dead, whispered in halls and classrooms with surprising accuracy. Joey's own account had more or less matched the whispers, but with even more detail and a few things that the news reports couldn't possibly have conveyed to the public. That had been fairly early in summer term, and probably one of the things that got Billy worrying. Joey might have been tough in ways that most people weren't, but he was also fragile in ways that most people weren't. Unthinking, Billy reached and put an arm around him.

Whether he was exhausted or just reassured by continued sound of the Nintendo, Joey sank into it, head resting on Billy's shoulder.

* * *

"Where the hell do they shop?" Ric asked, wrinkling his nose at what was left of Phil's dinner.

"Hey, you were the one who got lonely," Phil said, shoving his plate farther away from the couch. 

"I'm feeling better, okay?" Ric said, mildly defensive. He was sitting up now, clutching another glass of Coke.

Billy was having a hard time concentrating. Every time they talked, his brain decided that safely hopping Luigi from platform-thing to platform-thing – nobody knew what the fuck they were anyway – was less important, and tuned in to the conversation. He felt Joey pat him on the shoulder just as Luigi fell to his doom for the second time that level.

"It's okay," Joey said. "I'll move us up."

"Yeah, right. I can pull pranks good enough to make the administration wet their collective pants, but I still suck at video games."

"You don't suck," Joey said, already busy playing. "You just get distracted."

"I'll play the winner," Ric said.

Before the night was over, Ric had somehow managed to kick Joey's ass, which made Billy feel slightly better about the situation. Joey's lesser tantrums were kind of fun to watch, especially when they involved directing his anger at inanimate objects. Billy finally took the controller away from him and patted his hands.

"Look on the bright side, at least _you_ didn't spend all day throwing up."

"Hey!" Ric said, tossing the other controller at Billy. "I resent that."

"Yeah, but I spent all day _looking_ at it," Joey muttered.

"Voluntarily," Phil added, scraping his plate for the last of the shepherd's pie.

Joey made an irritated noise, but he didn't say anything.

"Seriously, man," Ric said, reaching down to clap him on the back. "Thanks."

"Thank Billy. He's the one who trudged out in the cold to get you Coke."

"D'you honestly think he would've done it if you hadn't wanted him to?"

The room abruptly fell silent. Ric looked around, perplexed, and shrugged.

"Well, it's the truth," he added. "No offense, Billy, but you still don't know my ass from a hole in the ground."

"Oh, thanks," Billy said, standing up. "That's just great. You're fucking _welcome_." 

He started upstairs, too angry to care whether Joey would follow him or not. Some days, it seemed like the whole fitting-in thing was going pretty well – the gang had accepted him quickly, almost too quickly, and he knew Joey had a lot to do with it, and Phil, now that he was living with him, too. Still, there were days when things with Ric or Snuffy got kind of rough, or maybe just misunderstood, and Hank, who seemed to want to open up, was usually too busy handling Snuffy.

 _The things we do for love_ , Billy thought, and stopped dead inside the bedroom.

Joey was standing behind him in the doorway, the Nintendo game forgotten. He looked about as sick as Ric had that afternoon.

"Don't listen to him," Joey said apologetically. "He's fucking clueless."

"No, actually, he's got a pretty big clue," Billy said, stalking over to the twin bed. Might as well fire away, seeing as he had everything and nothing to lose.

"I didn't _ask_ you to go," Joey said. "You just went. Voluntarily."

"I went because you were looking at me like – like _that_ ," Billy said. "And you know it."

"No," Joey insisted, crossing the room and sitting down beside him on the mattress. "You did it because you're a decent guy."

"Good to know I'm not the scum of the earth," Billy muttered, looking away. He shouldn't have been feeling what he was feeling, shouldn't have been about to cry.

Joey put an arm around him, almost shaking him.

"You're _not_. I'm never gonna let you forget that, got it?"

"Never? With my luck, I'll be kicked out of Regis before this time next year. What, why are you so shocked? You know my history. Get over it."

Joey's arm fell onto the bed, and he stared across the room, jaw tightening.

"You had better not be. I will fucking kick your _ass_ if you – "

"Joey, you help with the goddamned pranks!"

"I help with the goddamned pranks because I fucking _love_ you, okay?"

Billy stared at him, shaking. He hadn't just heard that, had he?

"You mean...ever since..."

"July at least," Joey mumbled, hands knotted in his lap, staring at the rug.

Billy covered his face with his hands, trying to process this. If that was true, then –

"Last night," he said. "Listen, I need to know if you remember _exactly_ what happened last night."

"Yeah," Joey said miserably. "I kind of seduced you. Sorry."

"You didn't notice me complaining, did you?" Unbelievable. It was completely...

"You kind of did," Joey said hesitantly, as if hesitant to inform Billy of his own behavior. "But I was too far gone, I think. Didn't want to stop."

"Well, neither did I," Billy said, finally working up the nerve to look him in the eye. "But you were...yeah, wow. You were blasted."

Joey grinned, trying to hide it behind his hand. "Yeah?"

"Yep. Impressively so."

"Any more and I would've been no better off than Ric. Smart of you to get me out of there."

Billy gaped at him.

"You _remember_ that?"

"I remember everything I said," Joey said seriously, "and everything that you said, too."

"Shit," Billy mumbled, hiding behind his hands again.

"You sounded like anything but an idiot, trust me. I wish I'd had that kind of sense, you know?"

"You wish we hadn't...gotten carried away, then?"

"Not exactly," Joey said. "I just wish we'd been sober."

"We're sober now," Billy pointed out, then closed his eyes and smacked his forehead. _Way to go, that was tactful!_

"So we are," Joey said, thoughtful.

"I can't believe you didn't slap me for that," Billy muttered.

"If you insist, okay," Joey said, and lightly smacked the back of his head. "Better?"

"Ow," Billy said, rubbing his eyes.

"That's easier to take care of than a hangover," Joey said, leaning over, and kissed his hair.

"You have a really weird way of showing that you care," Billy said, letting his hands fall in his lap.

"You have a really weird way of saying yes," Joey said, grinning.

"I guess we could be really weird together," Billy said, and instantly knew it was the lamest thing that he had ever said.

"Okay," Joey said, and scooted closer.

"And about...um, about what you said before, about the pranks..."

Joey rested his chin on Billy's shoulder, clearly waiting.

"Hm?"

"I _let_ you help because I fucking love you, but you didn't hear that from me."

"Of course not," Joey said.

Chemistry, Billy decided, would just have to wait.


End file.
